


Echoes (Of This Cursed Drumbeat)

by AliceinHyruleBastion



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (He still paints too he just also can dance), Dancer!Yusuke, I hope I'm not OOC..., M/M, No Spoilers, Ryuuji and Ann are the worst best friends ever, Songfic, YO I HAVE A NICE THING FOR THIS FANDOM NOW YAY, again..., also Akira is just starstruck ninety percent of the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceinHyruleBastion/pseuds/AliceinHyruleBastion
Summary: Yusuke Kitagawa is a creature of art; it hums in his lungs and and breathes in hues of ink that drip from his fingertips, it sparks behind his eyes and it even dances in the lilt of his voice.He traps emotions in canvases with paints of wonder, but that isn't all, for beneath his layers he's hidden another talent of his, another passion that he's long locked away:Dance.And he's had the most incredible- albeit perplexing- bout of inspiration.





	Echoes (Of This Cursed Drumbeat)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again!  
> I finally have something fluffy for y'all!  
> I had the sudden idea for this simply from the thought of "Y'know, with those legs of his he could totally be a dancer... YES" and then I added paint.  
> Just a note: I have absolutely no idea what Kosei looks like, so I just assumed "fancy rich people art school" and went for that, so just... yeah just go with it.  
> (Also I cannot dance to save my life, so it was fun trying to get this out in a way that made sense)
> 
> That aside, I hope you enjoy, and comments and critiques are highly appreciated!
> 
> (I apologize for the weird lyrics formatting; Ao3 decided to fight with me and I did my best!)
> 
> Song is Drumming Song, by Florence + The Machine.

If there's one thing Yusuke Kitagawa was not shy about, it was his art.

He didn't let the situation distract from the white rabbit he'd been chasing, no matter how awkward or strange others might find it, and would tell anybody about some subject of beauty or a pesky emotion he'd been trying to capture without reservation, walking the curious line between interminable kindness and empathy and absolute obliviousness.

 

However, even though his very words dripped in the paints he so coveted, there was another strain of art he also chased and held dear to him, though he more hid it away from the light of others in fear of scorn: dance.

 

"Art in motion", he'd often remind himself, "does not require a result on paper." But these words often fell empty to his own ears, as the community he'd swathed himself in screeched otherwise, as this was a school of _art_ and tangible works, not crooked footsteps that vanish like smoke; after all, _boys_ don't dance like that, boys don't dance at _all_ , never mind with other boys. That's for girls.

 

_So I'll do solo work,he_  stubbornly thought, and he did- solo in every aspect, from the barren rooms he'd practice in simply for the fun of it, to  the absolute absence of music and the eyes of others, solo in the feeling of elation it used to bring him. So he'd shelved it like an old memory, and let it gather dust...

 

Which is here it stayed until _he'd_ arrived, and struck an insatiable rhythm back into Yusuke's heart that he couldn't ignore if he wanted. It was near-silent, sinuous, intoxicating, so quiet that he hadn't even noticed it until it hit him full force, so _loud_ and present and constant that he wondered how he hadn't gone deaf from it. It was a passion that left him aching, one that seemed to be just out of his reach and dumb to his eloquent tongue, scalding him in shades of frustration he'd never felt before, and  couldn't even _name-_ let alone understand.

 

Paint could do it no justice, and torn paper and dulled pencils followed the months and months of infuriating confusion-

Until he had an idea.

Like flash paper, it had flared brightly and instantly, until he'd snuffed it out  immediately, shaking his head at how foolish that would've been. (That flame had been coaxed back to life by that dear friend, the one who'd set this damn drumbeat in motion in the first place, and gently urged Yusuke to _just try it._ )

 

So, with a song twining through his mind and that undercurrent threatening to drown his heart, Yusuke had tried something new, something that seemed uncomfortable to him, out of his comfort zone-

And set music to body and paint to motion. -

 

\---

 

It was the afternoon of Presentation Day at Kosei High, and doors were open to any who wished to see what was essentially a massive gallery walk, displaying all kinds of art from all kinds of students- be it paintings and sketches and sculptures littering the upstairs hallways, or classical music lilting down the stairways dueling with the jazz wailing just above them in the upper corridors for attention; the list was endless.

 

Students stood eagerly by their works, some abuzz in nervous energy or cool in antiquated arrogance, all talking and overlapping over each other as they explained and lamented and appraised their art to parents and friends and strangers alike. Weaving through the crowd of white uniforms were imposters of red from Shujin, hunting for a friend of theirs in the massive school, a splash of unexpected color in the somewhat stiff culture of Kosei. (They drew the eye in a strange way, almost magnetic, alluring)

 

"Are you sure he's actually here today?" One of them, a girl with bright blonde pigtails, asked one of the boys- the dark-haired one- whose hands were leisurely in his pockets despite the almost frantic skipping his eyes were doing over the people in front of him.

 

"Yeah, y'sure he ain't sick or something today?" The other boy, his hair bottle-blond and face bored, said as he dodged people.

 

The dark-haired boy shrugged, but kept moving despite their words. "He said he had a special presentation that he really wanted to show- us." A stutter on the last word, smoothly covered but still undeniable. A strange kind of smile spread almost shyly over his face. "I only helped him with a little bit of it, so I don't know all of it, but I think you guys are going to like it," he said, hand unconsciously tugging at the strands of hair just in front of his glasses.

The two blondes looked at each other confusedly. "Isn't it just like, a painting, like he normally does?" The bored one said, one thin eyebrow raised high.

 

A secretive and almost taunting smile stretched over the other boy’s  face again. "You'll just have to wait, Ryuuji, but I did tell you that I don't really know what all of it is," he answered.

 

The girl paused. "I'm confused..."

 

"Well that's no surprise," the blond boy-Ryuuji- mumbled, before yelping in pain. "Hey, that _hurt_ , Ann!"

 

"I heard that, you idiot!" Ann replied scathingly. "Besides, like _you_ can even talk." Her arms were crossed, and she hid a smile under her fake anger.

 

"Quiet down you two," the other one scolded gently, but there was an amused smile on his face.

 

Something that sounded like a... meow? came from his bag, and Ryuuji squawked in reply, followed by a hiss- a response that wasn't loud enough to be heard. Ann laughed not-so-subtly behind her hand.

 

Eventually, Ryuuji shot another sour look toward the bag. "Akira, did you _have_ to bring the damn cat along?"

 

Akira shrugged. "He'd come along anyway," he said evasively, and Ryuuji groaned.

 

"Hey guys!" Ann called suddenly, "wasn't this where he asked us to go? The main hall?"

 

Akira nimbly pulled out his phone and tapped something, before nodding and tucking it back into the front pocket of his jeans.. "He said to 'wait on the stairs'," he said dubiously, and Ryuuji scrunched up his nose.

 

"The hell does that even mean? What stairs?"

 

The rest of the conversation was cut off as the trio rounded the corner, fading into the bustling noise of the crowd.

 

"Ooh, there's a performance piece in the main hall! Can we go see it?"

 

"Might as well; we've already seen the rest. Where is it?"

 

"A performance in the main hall? Who's performing?"

 

"That Kitagawa guy's doin' a performance piece? But Isn't he a painter?"

 

"Wanna go check it out?"

 

Garbled conversations reverberated through the halls as bodies shifted toward the front hall, the sound chasing the masses.

 

The main hall was massive and double-floored, a huge spiral staircase starting at the main floor and curving upward in an unearthly sheen of glossy white, bodies spilling over its edges as they leaned over the railings of the stairs  to peer down below.

 

Standing at the center was a lone figure, dressed simply in loose white pants and a pale-blue dress shirt in unbuttoned to expose the plane of his collarbones and chest, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was barefoot, and stood nervously in the center of room far below them, fingers twisting themselves in front of him.

 

"Hey, that's Kitagawa, right?"

 

"What's he doing? There's nothing even here!"

 

"Where are his shoes?"

 

“Where’s the exhibit?”

 

Questions bubbled over the sides of the stairs, and Yusuke seemed to flinch at the noise, only to lift his head and scan the room, looking for something. His eyes eventually landed on the Shujin group from earlier standing all the way at the top on the second floor balcony, but they latched onto Akira alone,  widening a fraction before a lilt of smile spread over his face.

 

He subtly waved before he drew himself up and turned to the crowd. "Students and art enthusiasts alike, my name is Yusuke Kitagawa, a second-year here at Kosei," he announced, voice crystal clear and disarmingly commanding. "Today I wish to present a slightly different art piece, one that was set into motion and... _inspired_ by a dear friend of mine." (A shift of something too fast to decipher flickered across Akira's face, pink chasing it as he got a _look_ from Ann at his left.)

 

Yusuke's words were clipped in bashfulness,  so unlike his normal grandiose declarations of his work- always shameless but never arrogant. "They helped me find a new strain of art to pursue when I'd been stricken with a slump."

 

Ah, it seems this was new territory for the artist.

 

"What does he plan on doing?" Someone whispered.

 

"Before I begin, I'd like to remind you to please stay on the stairs, lest you want your clothes stained," Yusuke warned, before shooting them all a small smile.

 

"' _Stained_ '...?"

 

Ignoring the chatter, Yusuke stepped to the stepped to the front of room where two cans of paint were sitting, previously unnoticed. He carefully popped them open before dipping both of his bare hands into them and retracting them both, glorious blood-red staining them from the wrists down.

 

Without another word, he walked back toward the center of the room, and with a nod toward someone waiting by the speakers on the opposite side of the room,  paused in the center, eyes closed and arms held elegantly by his side like a ballerina in waiting. The paint dripped from his fingertips onto the pristine white floor, the color so violent that it almost clashed with the blue of his hair and the light colors he was wearing.

 

Without another word of warning, music began to play, an intoxicating drumbeat sounding the beginning of the song.

 

“ _There's a drumming noise inside my head_

 

_That starts when you're around_

 

_I swear that you could hear it_

 

_It makes such an almighty sound”_

 

 

With the start of the words, he was set into motion, eyes snapping open as his body chased the sound of the drumbeat, hands aflutter as if in frustration before clamping themselves over his ears as he stepped away from the center of the room just as the words started over again. (His face had sharply twisted into something masterfully tortured, frustrated, _raw-_ )

 

_“There's a drumming noise inside my head_

_That throws me to the ground,_

_I swear that you should hear it_

_It makes such an almighty sound”_

 

Dropping to one knee at the second line and slamming his hands onto the floor, he draws himself back and smears color on the floor before stumbling back to the beat, hands pressing back over his ears. (He _flinches_ at the sound of the familiar beginning drumbeat, artfully exaggerated.) The music starts to change into something more desperate, and his eyes slip shut as he rolls his head back, hands slipping their crimson fingerprints into his hair before he _throws_ himself into the music.

 

_“Louder than sirens,_

_Louder than bells,_

_Sweeter than heaven,_

_And hotter than hell”_

 

His hands drop as moves more into full dancing, body sweeping around the room as liquid as thawing quicksilver, movements intentionally frantic as if the cure for his turmoil was just out of his reach, spattering cherry-red frustration in his wake before moving to the next stanza in one breath.

 

_“I ran to a tower where the church bells chime,_

_I hoped that they would clear my mind,_

_They left a ringing in my ear-_

_But that drum's still beating loud and clear”_

 

At the start of the line, he runs to a corner of the floor before leaning forward with his arm outstretched as if to the very tower in the distance, something sad pulling at the corners of his lips. A beat later, and he turns to lean in the opposite direction, his back turned toward that spot he reached for before, arms pulling an imaginary weight behind him like church bells of iron sin. For that infinitesimal second, he was as frozen as the mighty Atlas, bearing the weight of the sky- before immediately releasing his tenseness and letting his body roll out of it, his feet carrying the motion forward into dizzy spirals as his hands run harshly through his hair. The streaks of red burned violently against his scalp.

_“Louder than sirens,_

_(Louder than sirens)_

_Louder than bells,_

_(Louder than bells)_

_Sweeter than heaven,_

_(Sweeter than heaven)_

_And hotter than hell_

_(Hotter than hell)-”_

 

He kept pace with the music, hands dropping as he chased the echoes of the lines, then the chorus repeated in double time and he turned it up, hysterical in every movement as he painted the tiles in his footsteps.

 

_“Louder than sirens,_

_Louder than bells,_

_Sweeter than heaven,_

_And hotter than hell-”_

 

At the second to last line, he froze in the center of the room, hands gently fluttering up to his face as his eyes slipped shut, barely caressing his cheeks before he sucked in a breath of hesitation as the next line played. Those hands turned downright _sinful_ as that gentle touch dragged down the side of his neck and the front of his chest, red chasing the lines as they dipped lower and lower toward his hips, before wrenching them away, dropping to his knees on the floor, hands pressed into the tile.

 

_“As I move my feet towards your body_   
_I can hear this beat; it fills my head up_ _  
_  And gets louder and louder;

_It fills my head up and gets louder and louder”_

 

Suddenly he’s crawling, arms outstretched as if he was clawing for purchase at something, each pass dropped on the downbeat before he presses one hand into the ground and forced himself backward onto his ankles, hands finding themselves clapped over his ears again as he fought against the sound of the drums. Eventually, he scrabbles backward until his back is flat to the ground, hands now claws over his ears as he _arches_ impossibly, his shoulder blades still pressed into the floor as his chest and hips followed the same line upwards. His face was caught in a soundless scream.

 

_“I run to the river and dive straight in_ _  
_ _I pray that the water will drown out the din…”_

 

The music slams to a lilting halt like an addict crashing from a high, the slow tempo languorous and calming the adrenaline rush of the previous verses. As the notes had started Yusuke had paused before slowly laying back against the floor. His face was blank, body still and barely moving as he slowly sat back up; the only rapid motion were the fingers of his right hand, which tapped out the single-double beat underneath the words like a heartbeat, as if he was transfixed by the sound. Face impassive, he slowly rises to his knees once again, before the fingers that had been tapping against the floor had been lifted to his throat, dragging a crimson line across it as slowly as the last line faded out.

 

_“But as the water fills my mouth_ _  
_ _It couldn't wash the echoes out;_

_But as the water  fills my mouth_ _  
_ _It couldn't wash the echoes out;_

_I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole_   
_Til there's nothing left inside my soul_ _  
_ I'm as empty as that beating drum,

_But the sound has just begun”_

 

As the music kicked back into full force, Yusuke lurched back onto his feet, emotion sliding back into his features as his hands pressed over his lips, the red of the paint making it look as if blood was spilling from them. As the beat shifts at the middle of the verse, his hands slide down around his throat as if that paint was drowning him, stepping back before he dropped his hands, a crude red ring staining the flesh of his neck. Something akin to guilt played over his features, obviously manufactured with the rest of his performance, but there was longing, something truthful and screaming and _desperate_ in the taut lines of his face as he raised a fist to his chest to beat it over his heart to the music, as if _it_ was truly the empty drum. As the line starts to end, he lowers his head, and takes a few steps back, steeling himself for _something_ as the next verse starts to play.

 

_“As I move my feet towards your body_

_I can hear this beat; it fills my head up_

_And gets louder and louder;_

_It fills my head up and gets louder and louder”_

 

The audience held a captive breath as Yusuke’s head snapped up, and he _ran_ forward with the start of the line, before throwing himself into a perfect front aerial, his red hands blaring beacons as they swung past his sides and up over his head as he stood out of it, a flicker of smile barely breaking his character as surprised shouts and cheers erupted in the hall. After the stunt, he moved lithely back into his liquid dancing, legs in perfect lines as vermillion fingers traced patterns through the air, their bright echoes standing out starkly against Yusuke’s light clothes and skin. One hand eventually snakes back up to his face, his fingertips leaving marks where he carefully pressed them over his face, caging his features,  his flamboyant streak visible for but a second as he threw his head back, eyes closed once again as he slowly came to halt in the center of the floor once again.

 

_“There's a drumming noise inside my head_

_That starts when you're around,_

_I swear that you could hear it_

_It makes such an almighty sound_

 

_(There's a drumming noise inside my head_

_That starts when you're around,_

_I swear that you could hear it_

_It makes such an almighty sound)”_

 

The familiar words played again but with its melody changed, now more certain and tenacious than it had been earlier, and Yusuke’s movements reflected it, leaving crimson lines wherever he set his next steps, his story reaching a climax, a _crescendo,_ and he wound the entire room into unconscious and infatuated curiosity that poured over the railings as people leaned further down to watch, hearts all racing in time to the music. (It was an incredible skill that the artist himself was not aware of)

 

_“Louder than sirens_

_Louder than bells;_

_Sweeter than heaven_

_And hotter than hell_

 

_(Louder than sirens_

_Louder than bells;_

_Sweeter than heaven_

_And hotter than hell)”_

 

Higher and higher, tighter and tighter, he drew them in further to the point of breaking, until finally, _finally_ he reached the final word of the double verse, freezing abruptly, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes as he threw his head back, the music spiralling upward to match another silent scream. But, as the music slid down into something more solid, his hands dragged down over his eyes, leaving red paint in its wake until it looked as if he was wearing a mask of blood, the pained expression sliding into something now taunting, the smile on his face playful and victorious, yet mysterious- it held the air of an inside joke, so plainly obvious but empty to the ignorant ones. (He’d played his audience like a fish on an invisible hook)

 

_“As I move my feet towards your body_

_I can hear this beat; it fills my head up_

_And gets louder and louder_

_It fills my head up and gets louder and louder”_

 

After slowly lowering his hand, bright fingers nothing less than a _LOOK AT ME,_ before the final verse started, reacting to the backbeat like a puppet on jerky strings, the beat like broken, stilted clockwork, moving from jump to jump in splashes of red, painting his conclusion in shades of dizzy confusion and clashing realization, both blurring into each other you couldn’t distinguish which emotion was which on his face. As the final line fell, he dropped to his knees, one hand clawing at the red stains over heart, his head bowed, until he pushed his other hand up toward the ceiling to the sound of the ending note.

 

He held it for a moment, the echoes of the song still reverberating around the empty room before it exploded into applause, startling him enough that he fell back onto the floor, chest heaving with exhaustion and sweat striping through the paint on his face. He looked up with a happy, albeit _surprised_ smile on his face.

 

Up top, the dark-haired boy- Akira- and his friends were gaping down at Yusuke in various levels of surprise as they applauded wildly, though Akira was frozen, half-leaned over the balcony and hands tight on the metal of the bar. Without saying a word, he pushed back from the wall and began to shoulder his way past the crowd on the stairs despite the confused yells from his friends,  making his way down the stairs two at a time until he got to the main floor.

 

By that point, Yusuke had stood, following Akira’s running form with confusion and something… _scared_ in his expression before the other stopped in front of him. The room was now dead silent, curious- watching. There was a pause, neither of them saying anything as Akira’s face was full of something that could only be called _wonder_ before lunging forward and crushing Yusuke in a massive hug, startling the poor boy. (Yusuke look surprised, to say the least, before a smile so sweetly bashful broke over his face.) There were a few scattered cheers and wolf-whistles, but the audience had already started to disperse by the time Akira’s two other friends managed to get to the bottom.

 

(“That was wasn’t what I was expecting!”

“It was cool, but what’s with the paint? That was kinda weird.”

“He’s so dramatic.”

“I wonder who that _friend_ of his was, hmm?”

“That guy who hugged him… you don’t think that was-?”

“It was so _beautiful,_ don’t’cha think)

 

\---

 

_Proud_ was the only way to describe what Akira was feeling, and he wanted nothing more than freeze time to try and contain the moment like a ship in a bottle. He was up on his tiptoes, arms tight around Yusuke’s neck pressed completely flush to him despite the worry of getting paint on himself, and he could feel Yusuke’s own arms shyly but so _gratefully_ wrap around his waist. “You _did_ it,” he whispered in Yusuke’s ear, “You actually _did_ it.”

 

A chuckle, deep and somewhat caught off-guard vibrated by Akira’s own ear, and he could feel his face warm at the sound of it. “I couldn’t let you down after all that strife,” he murmured quietly, and Akira pulled back to see a small smile- and was that a _blush_ under all that paint?- on Yusuke’s face. (Akira felt jittery, so set in motion, so _giddy_ that it made him confused. Him, usually so stoic, impassive, calm, _collected_ \- that’s what this performance did it him- it _melted_ him, made him soft)

 

Unfortunately, the private moment was interrupted when a loud, out-of-breath “Akira, buddy, ya gotta _slow down,”_  from behind them as Ryuuji and Ann (with Morgana + bag in tow) reached the two. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that quickly voluntarily before.”

 

Ann smacked him in the shoulder before turning to Yusuke. “What _was_ that, Yusuke?” she asked. “I never knew you could dance!”

 

“It was as I said at the beginning; it was inspiration from a friend of mine,” Yusuke answered simply.

 

Both Ryuuji and Ann raised an eyebrow. “I guess that does explain the, uh…” Ryuuji gestured vaguely toward the two.

 

Akira realized that although he’d come back down on the balls of his feet, neither of them had let go of the other, arms still looped around each other. Though Yusuke creased his eyebrows in confusion, Akira turned pink and gently nudged him to get his attention before carefully extricating himself. Yusuke’s reaction was a lot less subtle, as he turned red from the tips of his ears to the swath of pale skin from his open shirt.

 

“He, um- we-” Yusuke tried, uncharastically ineloquent, paint-stained fingers fumbling over themselves.

 

Akira sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yusuke… was in a slump of sorts, so I encouraged him to try and pick up dancing again.”

 

Ann spluttered. “What- you _knew_ he could dance? When did he tell you?” she demanded, fists on her hips as she leaned forward until she was in his face.

 

Unfazed, Akira looked up to Yusuke. “Did you not tell them?” he asked.

 

“ _Certainly_ not!” he answered, embarrassment making the remark sharper than he’d intended.

 

“The hell does _that_ mean?” Ryuuji cut in, insulted, and Yusuke shook his head.

 

“No, no, it’s just…” he softened. “It was hard enough just explaining it to one person and it was never relevant, so I never brought it up.”

 

Akira winced. He remembered that night, where Yusuke had called him on the verge of frustrated tears, stuck in a block he couldn’t escape, and Akira could _hear_ Yusuke tearing his hands through his hair, so he’d immediately invited him over to Leblanc. He remembered the words that had spewed out of him like deadly static, words of hatred and uselessness, and Akira had done nothing but held on to him as he babbled. He needed a new medium, but there was nothing left for him to try-

But then he’d mentioned how much he wished he could dance again.

Curious, Akira had nudged him into explanation, letting Yusuke talk himself out of the vicious circle he was in, and his story had torn Akira to shreds like barbs, of the ridicule he’d endured, of _why_ he couldn’t dance, until Akira had looked him in the eye and said “Who cares? Do what you love, not what _they_ want, Yusuke.”

 

The others seemed to get the hint that they were verging into uncomfortable territory. “Anyway,” Ann started awkwardly, “your performance was incredible.”

 

“Yeah, even though I don’t know anythin’ ‘bout art or dancing or whatever… it was awesome,” Ryuuji added. “Like that flip thing you did!”

 

Yusuke visibly relaxed. “Thank you, you two,” he said sincerely. “And Akira, thank you too, for pushing me.”

 

Akira didn’t say anything, only giving him a smile in return. (There was paint on the front of his shirt, drying on the side of his neck and on his cheek from where he’d hugged Yusuke, but the tacky feeling didn’t bother him in the slightest.)

 

“Soooo,” Morgana drawled, finally peeking his head from out of Akira’s bag, “just what kind of _inspiration_ did this guy give ya, hm?”

 

Yusuke’s blush came back full force. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he answered.

 

“Uh huh,” Morgana answered, and Ann tapped him on the head.

 

“Be nice,” she scolded.

 

Morgana sulked. “But-”

 

She shot him a look. His ears drooped. “Sorry, Lady Ann.”

 

“So, what d’you do with all the paint?” Ryuuji asked, scuffing at a stain on the floor with his sneaker.

 

“It’s washable, so it should be able to scrub away with ease,” Yusuke, relieved, answered. “When I requested to do this performance, one of the requirements was that _I_ had to be the one to clean it up afterward.”

 

“Hey! How about we help you then?” Ann suggested. “We’re done lookin’ around as it is, so we have the time.”

 

“Ugh, do we _have_ to?” Ryuuji whined, hanging his head.

 

Akira raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. Apparently, that was enough to get the message across.

 

“Ugh, fine,” Ryuuji relented.

 

Yusuke laughed at that, which startled Akira, not expecting the response. “Truly, it _does_ mean so much to me that you guys were here today; thank you, again.”

 

Beaming smiles and happy laughs.

 

“Oh yeah, before I forget- I took a picture! Here,” Ann shoved her phone towards Yusuke. Akira leaned over curiously to see what it was. On the screen was a shot of Yusuke near the end of the performance, where he’d leaned back toward the ceiling, an indescribable look on his face as he reached somewhere above him, the streaks and drips and smears of red all around him as well as shining on the artist himself magnificent and as striking as a rose beckoning the rain from the heavens. It was haunting, and also _stunning._ (But Akira’s eyes skipped to the version of him _now_ , hair disheveled and streaked with paint, face an artful blur of red that matched the lines that dipped into the planes of his chest and down toward his hips, that matched the red of Yusuke’s hands holding onto a phone as he scrutinized the screen, the red around his eyes bringing the blue of them out.)

 

“This is…” Yusuke started, before looking back to Ann. “Is that really me?”

 

She nodded. “Yep! Paint and all,” she teased.

 

His face was wistfully happy, as if he couldn’t quite imagine this was happening. A warm feeling tugged at Akira’s chest.

 

“Speaking of, I’ve got quite a bit to clean up, not to mention a fair amount in my ear,” he grimaced, and everyone laughed as he scratched at his ear.

 

They all chattered aimlessly as they put their stuff on the now-empty stairs before getting ready to scrub the paint off of the floor (and even the walls in some places), before Ann leaned over and whispered “Don’t worry, I already sent you the picture,” to Akira, to which he gave her a faux-innocent look in return, only to get an eyebrow-waggle in response.

 

(What he didn’t know, however, was that Ryuuji had teamed up with Ann, and had helped snap a shot of Akira during the presentation: Akira was leaning over the banister, eyes solely focused on Yusuke, one hand unconsciously touching his chest in awe. He had been positively _enraptured_ , and anyone looking at him could read him like an open book, his guard completely evaporated. The only thing that had existed for him in that moment was the music and Yusuke alone. Ryuuji- with Ann’s help-  had sent it to Yusuke with only the caption “You’re not the only one”.)

 

Art did have a way of bringing other realities to light, as it was- no matter the form.

 

(Yusuke only hoped that he managed to capture his desire and hope correctly this time.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
